


Someone You Know

by JiniZ



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Blood As Lube, Blood Play, Blow Jobs, Canonical Character Death, Detective Castiel Novak, Detective Dean Winchester, F/M, Hacking, M/M, Murder, Nietzche, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Serial Killer, Sex, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Thriller, breath play, but not too graphic, i have no idea how it works, just go with it, loosely based on an old dean koontz book, no worse than an r-rated horror flick, some blood, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-16 10:32:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8098771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JiniZ/pseuds/JiniZ
Summary: Detective Dean Winchester and his partner are tracking down a serial killer the papers have taken to calling The Butcher. What he doesn't realize is that The Butcher is closer to him than he thinks. Psychic Pamela Barnes was given a gift she didn't ask for. Flashes of pain and suffering tell her that The Butcher has struck again. She needs to find Dean to tell him what she knows. Will she get to Dean before The Butcher gets to her?Castiel Novak is excellent at what he does. Oh, not the police work he does with Dean. That's his side gig. You see, Detective Castiel Novak is The Butcher, and he can hardly wait to see the look on his partner, and lover's, face when he realizes it.





	1. Strippers Don't Get the Good Ones

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, thank you to [Winjennster](http://www.winjennster.tumblr.com/html/) for the soundboarding, to [SupernaturallyNoble](http://www.supernaturallynoble.tumblr.com/html/) for beginning to beta before I realized where the story was going and hitting her nopes, and to [LtleFlrt](http://www.ltleflrt.com/html/) for offering to finish the betaing. You ladies are amazing. Thank you.
> 
> Art for this created by the a-fucking-mazing [Octopifer](http://octopifer.tumblr.com//) and I'm so in love with it I can't even. (It's posted in chapter eight if you can't wait to see it.)
> 
> This is part of the [SPN Horror Bang](http://spnhorrorbang.livejournal.com/) over on LJ.

Lisa Braden is scared. More scared than she’s been in her life. One of her friends is dead, the latest victim of a killer the papers are calling The Butcher. She doesn’t know all the details. She doesn’t want to. What she does know is that The Butcher is targeting strippers - _exotic dancers, Lis,_ she says to herself. She is scared that she may be next.

Detective Dean Winchester had asked for permission to come over and ask her a few more questions about Josie’s murder. She had agreed to the late hour because she really wanted to get another look at the detective again. Maybe she’d even ask him out. Who knows? Which is why he now sits on the other end of Lisa’s sofa, notepad and pen at the ready. She briefly wonders why he doesn’t record it.

“I appreciate your taking the time to talk to me, Ms. Braeden, especially this late. I’m sorry my partner couldn’t be here.” His voice is soft, practiced in talking to witnesses and victims, and Lisa can’t help but think that it is an excellent bedroom voice.

She shakes her head a little. _So not the time._ “Please. Call me Lisa,” she says, trying not to blush too hard. “Whatever I can do to help.” She means it; she wants this guy caught so that she doesn’t become the next blurb on the evening news.

“I know this can’t be easy for you,” Dean says as Lisa nods in agreement. “How long have you known Josie Sands?”

“A couple of years. We used to work together at the club.” She mentally shivers at the memory of the hell hole that place was for her.

“Which one was that?” He appears to be all business as he scribbles in his notebook.

Lisa tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she watches his hands work. She hates even having to say the name of the place. “I guess there is more than one, isn’t there?”

Dean snorts. “There’s five in this neighborhood alone.”

She tries not to let his noise bother her. It’s not the first time she’s been seen as _less than_ for her current profession. “Slick Willie’s on 45th.”

“Classy,” he mutters under his breath.

“What was that?”

Detective Winchester’s head snaps up and he looks at her with slight panic in his eyes. “Oh, God. I’m sorry. I didn’t -”

She holds up a hand to him and he quiets. “Detective, I’m used to it. There’s a reason I got out of there as soon as possible.” Sadly, she’s used to people thinking the worst of her for having worked there.

“Still. I shouldn’t have…I apologize.”

 _At least he’s sincere,_ she thinks. “Apology accepted. I know that what I do for living isn’t to many people’s liking.”

Dean snorts again and runs a hand through his hair. “No, Ms. Braeden. What you do for a living is to many people’s liking, otherwise there wouldn’t be a market for it.”

She had to concede his point. “That is true.”

“Just, please. Stay away from the drugs and the pimps. I’ve seen too many girls go down that road and it never ends well.” He puts out a tentative hand like he’s going to touch her arm in sympathy, but doesn’t cross the invisible personal space bubble.

Lisa’s done her best to do just that. She hasn’t been tempted yet. “I don’t plan on it. Plus, I’ve got about a year before I walk away for good.”She puffs up a little bit with pride.

“Really? Then what will you do?” He sounds genuinely curious.

“I’ll have finished up at the CIA by then if it all goes well.” She takes note of his furrowed brows. She needs to clarify for him - just like she has to clarify for most everyone she talks to about her dream job. “Not the CIA you’re thinking. The Culinary Institute of America.” She pauses before adding, “I know being a stripper isn’t the best job in the world, but it’s paid for my tuition. I won’t have any student loans when I graduate.”

“Oh, good. I’m glad you’ll be leaving.” He smiles awkwardly at her. “So. Josie Sands….”

Lisa smiles ruefully. “You never think it’s going to be someone you know, do you?”

Dean returns the smile. “No. You never do. So, how close were the two of you?” He gets his pen and notepad ready again.

“We were pretty good friends. We saw each other every couple of weeks to catch up. I kept hoping I could find a way to get her out of that place.”

“And when was the last time you saw her?”

Lisa swallows. “Last week. Tuesday. The day she...died.” She wonders if it’ll ever get any easier to say out loud.

“And where did you go?”

“There’s a place around the corner from her apartment she likes to go to. We met there for coffee. She was heading to a temp agency to pick up some extra work, so we didn’t stay long.”

“Do you remember the name of the place?”

“No, I never can. It’s over on 45th? There’s a big chicken in the window?” Lisa chuckles at the absurdity of it.

“Ah. It’s not a chicken. It’s a goose. The Blue Goose. My partner likes that place.”

“Right! Right. The Blue Goose.” She wonders why she can’t remember the name of it. It’s their whole identity for crying out loud. Josie loved seeing how they’d decorate the goose for holidays.

“Did Josie tell you the name of the temp agency she was going to?”

“She didn’t. I’m sorry.”

He taps the pen on his pad. “That’s okay. Do you know why she needed the extra money?”

Lisa knows he’s thinking drugs even though she’s previously told him Josie didn’t do that. “Does it matter?”

“All of it matters. We need to paint a clear picture of what happened and where she went those last twenty-four hours.”

Lisa sighs. She’s had this conversation with Josie at least three times, and each time her efforts to help were rebuffed. “She was trying to pay her rent. She was about two weeks away from getting evicted. Look, you said it yourself. Slick Willie’s isn’t exactly a classy place, and the guys that go there…” She notes Dean’s anticipation. “Let’s just say that the guys that go there are horrible tippers and tend to want more than most girls are willing to give.”

Dean nods. “Did you talk to her after her appointment?”

“Briefly. She called me afterwards to say they’d let her know. Let her know. Jesus.” Lisa’s voice cracks. “She was desperate. I was worried she’d do something she’d regret.”

“You mean prostitution.”

Lisa nods. “I tried to talk her out of it. I told her she could come stay on the couch. We’d be cramped, but she’d be safe, and we could work on getting her out of that place.”

“Did she take you up on that offer?”

“No. She said she’d think about it.” Lisa wipes away a tear that falls. _Damnit._ “I was going to call her in the morning to try to convince her. She was killed that night.”

“Thank you for talking to me, Ms. Braeden.” Dean closes the notebook and puts it and the pen in his pocket as he stands to go. “I know this isn’t easy for you.”

Lisa watches his movements carefully and snorts as if to say, _Understatement._ “Will you catch this guy, Detective?”

“We’re doing everything we can.” He reaches into his other pocket and pulls out his wallet which he opens to fish out a business card. “Here. It’s got my cell on it. If you think of anything, please call me. Day or night.”

Lisa takes the card and looks at it but doesn’t really see it. “Thank you, Detective. I hope you get him soon.”

“Look, why don’t you take some time off? You just never know.” He touches her arm gently.

“Seven. Josie was his seventh victim, right?” Dean nods. “So much for being lucky.”

Dean points to the card in her hand. “Anytime. Day or night.”

Lisa has no idea what comes over her next. Maybe she’s lonely. Maybe she’s scared. Maybe it’s just that Detective Winchester is just so beautiful. Maybe it’s all of those things when she says, “Okay, so. I know this is odd, but...you wouldn’t want to go for coffee some time, would you?”

His lips quirk up in a small smile. “Are you asking me out?”

“Yes?” What the hell did she just do?

“You’ve got my card.” And just like that, he’s gone.

“Ugh,” she says flopping on the couch, her head in her hands. “Of course not, Lisa. You’re a stripper. Strippers don’t get the good ones.” She sits like that for a moment chastising herself before going to the kitchen for a glass of wine.

She grabs her favorite glass, a delicate pink goblet with a blue-green stem and base she found in a junk store years ago, and pours herself a healthy dose of port.

As Lisa heads back into the living room, she remembers a man Josie saw at the coffee shop. She doesn’t remember much about what Josie said, just that for some reason, he made her feel uneasy, which is silly because she hadn’t even gotten a good look at him, but Detective Winchester said that he wanted to know everything, so she rushes to the door to see if he’s still in the hallway waiting on the elevator.

Detective Winchester is gone.

Lisa goes back inside, closes the door and locks her two deadbolts. She leans back on it and takes a big gulp of her wine, enjoying the taste before swallowing it. She looks at her watch. Since it’s barely nine, she figures she’ll see what’s on Netflix before heading to bed.

She settles into one end of the sofa, tucking her feet under her. She turns on the tv, queues up Netflix and flips through the new releases. The suggestions Netflix makes are a whole lot of B-grade horror, and she’s not watching any of that. There’s too much horror in her life already. Lisa sighs and turns off the television. Maybe a book instead.

She stays where she is for the moment, absently sipping her wine, staring at nothing. The knock at the door shakes her out of her zone. She sets her wine on the table and goes to the door.

“Who is it?”


	2. Let the Killing Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Butcher takes his next victim.

Detective Castiel Novak waits. 

He’s seated in the bakery across from Lisa Braeden’s apartment building, biding his time. 

His partner, Detective Dean Winchester, is interviewing her one more time about Josie Sands’ murder. Castiel faked a phone call from his sister and told Dean he would have to go without him. Family emergency and all. 

From where he sits, Castiel can see the front door of her building easily. All he has to do is wait for Dean to be done with her.

And then Castiel’s fun can start. 

He smiles into his coffee as he wonders what Dean would think if he knew that Castiel is the killer he’s been looking for. 

Hurt. Angry. Betrayed. 

Castiel giggles. 

The woman at the table next to his smiles at him, and Castiel smiles back. It’s important that he seem like everyone else in the world instead of the superior man he is. They’ll know it eventually, but for now, he has to pretend to be what they would consider normal. 

He turns back to the window, looking for Dean. Poor Dean. So naive, so trusting, trying to save the world, one stripper at a time. 

_ At least he can suck cock like a champ,  _ Cas thinks. 

It’s going to devastate Dean when he realizes that Castiel, his friend, his partner, his  _ lover _ , is The Butcher. 

Castiel considers making Dean one of his victims just to see the look on his face. When he realizes that he’s been taking it up the ass for a serial killer? 

_ It’ll be beautiful.  _

Should he tell Dean while he’s fucking him, buried deep inside him, hand around his throat? Or should he casually drop it into conversation and see what happens? Either way, just thinking about it gets Castiel half hard. 

In another fifteen minutes, Castiel spies Dean leaving the building.  _ Time to go to work.  _ He takes a final sip of his coffee and stands to leave. He gives the woman at the next table a smile and a wink, noting her blush and he thinks she’d look exquisite trussed up and covered in blood.

Castiel quickly crosses the street and heads to the front door of Lisa Braeden’s building. The building is perfect for his needs: no doorman, no front desk, no cameras. He has to be buzzed in by a tenant, but he times his pace so that he slips in right behind a delivery man. 

He thinks about walking up the few flights to Lisa’s apartment, but his heart is already beating faster in anticipation, so he decides to take the elevator where he can take a few calming breaths on his way. 

The delivery guy disappears down the hall, so Castiel has the elevator to himself.  _ Good,  _ he thinks. In case anyone asks about him, he’s barely a blip on the delivery guy’s radar.

There’s no one in Lisa’s hallway, so Castiel takes his time moseying down to her door. He’s practically giddy, but he has to compose himself if he’s going to do this right. 

He will. He’s a professional.

He stands at her door letting the anticipation build. By the time he knocks, his whole body is buzzing. 

“Who is it?” Lisa’s voice is muffled by the closed door. 

“Detective Novak with the 8th Precinct, Ms. Braeden.” Cas makes sure he’s got his “authority” voice in full force and his badge out. He listens to Lisa undo the deadbolts, and she cracks the door, keeping the security chain in place. As if that were any kind of a deterrent at all. 

She peeks through the opening and looks at his badge, like she’s not sure he is who he says. She wouldn’t know a fake badge if it stuffed a dollar in her g-string. 

“What can I do for you, Detective?”

Castiel tucks his ID back into his trench coat. “I’m here about Josie Sands. Detective Winchester didn’t call you?”

“Actually, you just missed him.” 

“I did? Huh.” Castiel looks around the hallway. The door closes and he hears Lisa unlock the chain. His lips quirk into a little smile. His confused puppy routine hasn’t failed him yet.

Lisa opens the door and beckons him in. “Come in.”

“Thank you.” He crosses the threshold and does a quick sweep of the room. There are no windows in the living room, but probably one in the bathroom. Should be easy enough to keep her in the main room. 

“Detective Winchester said you couldn’t make it.” She looks at him expectantly, but he doesn’t answer. He still looks around the room. “Detective?”

Castiel shakes himself away from his thoughts for a moment. “Sorry. Yes. Traffic was awful. But I wanted to come by and ask you a few more questions about what happened that night.” He thinks killing her will be fun. And easy. Possibly too easy. His next victim will need to be tougher prey.

He watches as her face scrunches a little in confusion. “I just went over this with Detective Winchester.” 

_ Of course you did.  _ He smiles gently at her. “It helps to go over it multiple times. He and I can compare notes to see if there’s something you may have missed in one version. Is that okay?”

Lisa fiddles with her fingers and even bites her bottom lip. Castiel knows she’s uncomfortable, but he’s certain she’ll say yes. “Um...Yeah. Okay. Whatever I can do to help. Can I get you something to drink, Detective?”

_ Ever the lovely host.  _ He’s surprised that she actually has some manners. Most people don’t these days. “No, I’m fine, thanks.”

“Please. Sit.” She gestures to the sofa and Castiel does his best not to grimace at the threadbare couch, which he sits on gingerly, avoiding the ancient and cliched afghan thrown over the back.

He pulls out his notepad and pen to pretend to take notes. “Thank you. Now, about that night -”

“Did you want to go get some coffee?”

The words spill out of her mouth so quickly, Novak isn’t even positive he heard them correctly. “I’m sorry, what?”

Her whole body deflates with a sigh. “Never mind. I just...forget it.”

Castiel puts on his Gently Sunny Smile so as not to appear too eager. He needs to keep her calm for a little bit at least. “Would you...like that, Ms. Braeden?”

“Lisa.”

“Lisa.” The things he’s going to do to her...he has to actively fight to keep his leg from bouncing in anticipation. “What made you ask that?

She fidgets with her hands, avoiding his gaze. “I guess I just thought that since Detective Winchester just left and with how late it is…”

He lets her flounder for a moment, thinking she may continue the thought. One would have thought a goddamned stripper would be a shoo-in to get laid all the time. Maybe not. He opts to put in his first little bit of lechery into his voice. 

“Considering your line of work, I didn’t think the hour would bother you much.”

“Touché, Detective.” She doesn’t appear to have caught on to the touch of menace in his voice.

“Let’s do business first.”

Lisa nods in agreement. “I’m actually glad you stopped by.” Novak raises an eyebrow at her, a clear suggestion that he wants more. “I was about to call Detective Winchester with something I remembered just now.”

_ Good thing I got here first then.  _ “What was that, Lisa?”

“Well, there was this guy that Josie saw that day that bothered her.”

That makes Castiel sit up a little straighter. Was he seen? He doesn’t think so. Even if he was, if Lisa didn’t tell Winchester, he’s good. “Bothered her how? What did she tell you about him?” He readies his pen to take notes. 

She shrugs. “Not much. Just that he was odd and that he looked at her like she was his prey.”

That certainly sounds like him.  _ Shit. No. I’m good.  _ “That’s an interesting choice of words,” he says carefully. 

“Yeah. It sounded weird when she told me about it.”

He words his next question carefully. “Did they interact at all?”

“No. Just that it was a vibe she was getting from him.”

_ So far so good.  _ “And where was this?”

“The Blue Goose?” 

_ Shit.  _ He had picked out Josie at The Blue Goose a month before he killed her. It’s entirely possible that he was the one Josie told Lisa about. 

“Yes. I’m familiar with it.”  _ Gotta play this off a little differently.  _ “It’s one of my favorite shops. And the biscotti? Excellent.”  _ That ought to put her at ease.  _ He pretends to shake himself out of the thought of the shop. “Sorry. Got a little off track there. When was this?”

“It was the day she - the day she died. We met up there for a bit and she called me a little while after I’d left. Maybe an hour or so?”

“And you didn’t tell this to Detective Winchester?”

“I only just remembered it. I tried to catch him after he left, but I wasn’t quick enough.”

_ That’s a plus.  _ “Did Ms. Sands tell you anything about him? What he looked like? What kind of build he had? What he was wearing?”

Lisa shudders. “Other than that he was tall, dark, and creepy? No.”

“And you didn’t tell this to anyone else?” 

“No. Like I said, I just remembered it. Do you think he could have something to do with Josie’s murder?” 

“I’m not sure.” 

Novak stands and slinks to the sofa table. His fingers trail over the surface, leaving a barely visible trail in the thin layer of dust. When he gets to the end of the table, he rubs his fingers together to get the offending material off of them. He fingers a small angel statue and gently knocks it over.

“Detective?”

He’s so close he can practically taste it. “Hmmm? Oh. I’m sorry. That’s what I needed to know. I’m off the clock now.”

“That didn’t take long.” She sounds hopeful. If she only knew.

“No. But it was thorough.”  _ Just like I’m going to be. _

“I’m glad I could help.” She smiles warmly at him and holds up a bottle of wine. “Wine?”

“Oh, no thanks.” Novak needs to sell this without sounding too creepy. “The wine’ll just make my head fuzzy, and that’s not what I want to be tonight.” He’s pretty sure he sounded sincere, and just a little bit interested in her. 

Lisa turns coy, looking at her hands and pointing her toe. “You’re not bothered by what I do for a living?” There is a hint of playfulness in her voice.

“If you’re not bothered by what I do, then no.” 

He takes a step towards her.

“Cops are okay in my book.” 

“Oh, I’m a little more than just a cop.”  _ She has no fucking idea. _

One more step. 

“A touch of mystery. I like that.” 

“You might change your mind when you find out what I really do.”

Step. 

She turns her back to him to pour more wine. She huffs a small laugh. “Well, unless you’re The Butcher himself, I think it’ll be okay.”

As she pours her wine, Novak smiles twistedly. This is what he’s waited for. One more kill is about to be under his belt. His body thrums with anticipation.  _ So close…. _

Lisa turns back to him and he comes at her with a force and agility he’s certain she never imagined. Her glass falls to the floor and shatters, spilling the red liquid all over the floor and her feet, a little on her legs. Novak has a fleeting thought about being glad he’s wearing dark suit pants. 

She barely gets a gasp out before he covers her mouth with one hand, grabbing her wrist with the other. He means to push her to the sofa, but the spilled wine makes her lose her footing and her feet slip out from under her. Just before she lands, her head strikes the corner of the coffee table, rendering her unconscious as blood mixes with the wine on the floor. 

“Damn. It’s more fun when they’re awake.”


	3. The Vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pamela has a vision of the latest killing.

Pamela Barnes has had a day.

From the moment she woke up, it has been one little thing after the other: a broken coffee maker, a late bus, disgusting office coffee that she spilled on her jeans. She was late for the interview with the radio station, which made her late for the consult she had with the parents of one of The Butcher’s victims.

She just wants to forget the entire day and relax with a beer and a disaster movie while she eats Chinese in her PJs. In hindsight, she should have known it was coming.

The vision.

She’s barely made it to the kitchen with her takeout bag when it hits. They’re always the same - it’s like a switch has flipped in her head and her own vision is gone and she is suddenly thrown somewhere else, and she’s looking at an entirely new scene.

It’s always flashes, never a full picture. She described it once as being in the middle of a flock of large birds taking flight, their wings passing in front of her face, so she only catches glimpses of the world she’s thrown into.

She grips the counter with one hand and fumbles for her phone in her back pocket. With a quick push of a button and a voice command, she calls her sister, Anna, to help her. Anna answers within two rings.

“Hey, Pam. What’s up?” She sounds bouncy and bubbly.

“Anna. Something’s not right.”

Her tone shifts immediately. She knows Pamela is having a vision. Pam can hear her scrounging for something to write with. “Do you get a sense of where you are?”

“It’s her apartment.” A few more flashes and she can vaguely hear a knocking. She thinks it’s the woman’s apartment.

_Come in._

“He’s there.”

“The Butcher?” Anna asks.

“Yes.”

“Can you see him?”

“Not clearly. He’s tall. Powerful.” The wings continue to flap as she catches glimpses of the apartment. There’s something about him she can’t put her finger on. “She thinks she can trust him.”

“What about her?” Anna asks. “Can you get anything on her? A face? A name?”

Pamela squints, trying to see through the wings. “I think her name is Risa?”

“She’s Japanese?” That would be different. All The Butcher’s victims have been white women in their twenties.

“I...no. Lisa? Lisa...Baker?”

“Okay. That’s something. What about him? Can you get anything from him?”

“He’s...hunting her. Baiting her.”

“Is that all?”

“I think the police already know who he is, but they’re not connecting him to the murders.”

Pamela squeezes her eyes shut hoping that the black wings will fade into the back of her mind and the scene will become clearer. It’s never worked before, but she keeps trying just in case one day it does. Suddenly, she gasps and her eyes fly open.

“Pamela?”

“Lisa. She’s dead.” And with that, the wings are gone. “I need to call Detective Winchester.”

“Okay. Call me when you’re done. Want me to come over?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ll call you in a bit. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” She disconnects and dials Dean’s number.


	4. A Rope Over An Abyss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Pamela meet. It doesn't go well for either of them.

Detective Winchester is back at Lisa Braeden’s apartment. Her body lies on the floor, a large pool of blood surrounds her. Her skin bears the marks of several knife wounds. Her stomach is sliced open, kidney to kidney, the gaping wound absurdly reminding Dean of a smile.

It’s the far wall that has Dean perplexed. It’s something that The Butcher hasn’t done before. On the wall, written in Lisa’s blood are the words:

_a rope over an abyss_

“Beautiful,” Dean says, the sarcasm and frustration apparent. “Just fucking beautiful.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it that,” the coroner, Zachariah Adler, said as he reaches into his bag for his thermometer and carefully pushes it into Lisa’s body to get her liver temperature.

Dean looks around the room, remembering his last visit there. “I was just here last night.”

Adler looks up at him. “You were?”

“Yeah. She knew the last victim. I came here to talk to her about the case.” He idly wonders if the killer was waiting for him to leave.

“Jesus. You’re kidding.”

Dean turns back to the wall and stares at the words. “This guy is just playing with us.”

“You’ll get him, Dean.”

Dean shakes his head and turns back around. “I’m beginning to wonder, Zach. She’s number eight. Twelve if you count the unconfirmed victims.”

“You’re doing everything you can.”

“That’s what I told her.” He looks down at Lisa’s lifeless body and shakes his head ruefully.

Adler does the same as he pulls the thermometer out of her. “Liver temp is 85.1, plus she’s almost in full rigor. I’d say she’s been dead eight to ten hours.”

“That’d be about right.” Winchester looks away as he thinks of the night before. “You know, she sort of asked me out last night.”

“Really?” Adler sounds surprised.

“She was a good kid.”

Novak slips into the room, unseen by either his partner nor the coroner, who examines Lisa’s neck. He’d only given a cursory nod to the uniformed officer outside the door, so he knows he’ll catch them off guard. He loves doing little shit like this.

“What have we got here?” Dean’s jump makes him smile internally, and he puts up his hands to calm him. “Woah. It’s just me.”

“Jesus, Novak.” Dean scrubs a hand across his face.

“Jumpy, aren’t we?”

“We should probably all be jumpy until this guy is caught,” Adler says as he continues to prod the back of Lisa’s neck in one spot.

“Why? We aren’t strippers.” He smiles nonchalantly, but Dean ignores him. Novak waits for the right moment to push his buttons.

Dean looks down at her again. “Lisa Braeden, twenty-five. She was a culinary student at the CIA.”

Adler looks up. “She wasn’t a stripper? That’s not The Butcher’s usual M.O.”

“She was working at Centerfold’s on 8th to pay her tuition.”

“She’s certainly got the body for it,” Castiel says. _And buttons pushed._

Dean whips his head up to look at his partner. “Dude, that’s sick.”

Novak pretends to placate him. “What? She’s hot.”

“She’s _dead,_ Novak.”

 _Oooh. Pushed a good one._ “I’m just saying. She’s probably the hottest victim so far.”

The two stare at each other a moment, Castiel certain that Dean is wondering why the hell he’s fucking his partner. _Because you’re such a stand up guy._ They both turn to Adler when he speaks.

“I’ve got a possible cause of death if anyone’s interested,” Adler says, his fingers still probing one spot on the back of her neck.

Novak points to the wall behind him. “That blood over there would indicate something, right?”

“Not quite,” Adler says. “It’s a lot of blood, yes, but not enough for her to have bled out.”

“So what was it?” Dean asks.

“Decapitation.”

That takes Novak aback. He knew she was dead shortly after she hit the floor, but fuck. He bends over her body to get a closer look at her neck. “Her head looks screwed on to me, Doc.”

“It’s not that kind of decapitation, Novak.” Zachariah stands and then unlocks the stretcher Lisa’s body lays on to bring it up to full height. “You remember a few years ago? That rookie pitcher for the Angel’s who was killed in a car accident?” Novak nods; he vaguely remembers it. “One guy survived the crash; he had an atlanto-occipital decapitation. Miracle he survived.”

Novak throws up his hands. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“In English,” Adler stresses, “it means the decapitation was internal. Her skull was separated from her spine. She didn’t stand a chance.”

“Jesus.” Dean says. “How much trauma is needed to cause that?”

“Let’s just say, a lot.”

This news makes Castiel a little melancholy. On one hand, he’s kind of proud for having caused that kind of trauma, but on the other hand, it also meant Lisa wasn’t quite as much fun to play with. _It’s better when they’re awake,_ he muses again. He stares at the wall that his handiwork is scrawled on.

Zachariah starts to push the stretcher toward the door. “I’ll know more when I get her back to the lab and open her up. I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks, Doc.” Dean watches Adler go. He turns when he hears his partner chuckle. “What are you laughing at?”

“Just looking at this.” He crosses his arms as if he’s studying a work of art, which in his mind, it is.

Dean sidles up to him and mirrors his position. Their shoulders touch. “Yeah, I got nothing. That’s new to this guy.”

“Nietzsche.”

“Do what?”

“The quote. It’s Nietzsche.” He figures he’ll throw Dean a bone.

“You know what that means?”

“Don’t look so surprised, Dean.” Castiel preens a little and recites the full quote, ending with a little flourish. “‘Man is a rope stretched between the animal and the Superman-a rope over an abyss.’”

“Thanks for the theatrics, man, but what is it?”

Castiel has to remember that he is better than pettiness and holds his tongue. What does come out isn’t much better. “You know, for someone with a Master’s degree, you sure don’t know much, do you?”

“Fuck you. What is it?”

“It was part of Nietzsche’s work on man becoming a superman; that if man would stop looking to the supernatural god, he would eventually become like apes are to man today.” _We’ll get there one day._

Dean knits his brow. “Are you saying this guy thinks he’s bigger than God?”

Castiel laughs. “No. He knows there is no god; that man is above everything on earth.” _Including you, Dean-o._

“Great. More confirmation that The Butcher is crazy.”

“Oh no.” Castiel gets serious. “He’s not crazy. Not at all.”

“Something you wanna tell me?” Dean asks. “You become a profiler on your last vacation?”

“Hardly. I minored in psychology.”

“Bet you never thought that’d be useful.”

“It’s been more useful than you realize.” _So much more useful._

Dean’s phone rings. He pulls it out and answers. “Winchester...Yeah. We’ll be right there.” He hangs up and stuffs the phone in his pocket. He tugs on Novak’s sleeve. “Come on. Captain’s holding a press conference on the new murder.” He starts to exit the apartment when he notices that Novak isn’t following him. "You coming?”

Novak is lost in thought. He wonders how last night would have been different if Lisa hadn’t slipped on the spilled wine. “Hmmm? You go ahead. I want to look around here some more, see if something jumps out at me. I’ll be there in a bit.” He takes a step toward Dean and fixes his tie. “Besides, you’re better with the press than I am.”

“Can’t argue there.” Dean presses a quick kiss to his lips and leaves the apartment.

As soon as he’s gone, Castiel drops all pretenses and stalks around the room, savoring the memory of last night’s events. It hadn’t taken him long to realize that Lisa was dead, and he wishes it could have been different. He wishes he could have seen the look in her eyes when he sliced into her; the horror at what was being done to her sinking in.

He would have tied her down and duct taped her mouth shut so she could only whimper. He would have trailed the knife over her body delicately at first, and cutting into her flesh on the second pass like he usually does with his victims. It wouldn’t have been enough to kill her, of course, but it would have been enough for her to think it would.

But since she died so quickly, Novak simply sliced her stomach open, stuck his hand in her insides, swishing them around a little bit, enjoying the warmth of them, and wrote his note on the wall. He’d had better nights. _C’est la guerre,_ he thought.

He’s lost in his thoughts, repeating the movement of his fingers on the table, reliving the moment. The angel that he pushed over last night is still down.

“Excuse me?”

Novak freezes at the voice behind him. He doesn’t recognize it as any of the uniforms, or one of the reporters he’s been around. He puts his mask back on and turns to the woman who entered the apartment. “Can I help you?” he asks.

“I’m looking for Detective Winchester.” She’s pretty. Thin. Dark hair and lovely green eyes. She’d make an excellent addition to his collection. She stops just inside the door.

He can sense she’s on edge. “I’m his partner, Detective Novak. What can I do for you, Ms….”

“Pamela Barnes.”

 _That_ revelation startles him. “The psychic?” He’s heard of her, of course, but he’s never seen her. No one has. She keeps her identity strictly hidden when she’s appeared on television. She’s supposed to be some be-all and end-all when it comes to solving cold cases. Novak knows it’s bullshit.

“You make it sound so distasteful.” She hugs herself for what he assumes is protection as she take another step into the room.

“Isn’t it? You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe in that sort of thing.”

Pamela looks around the room and notices the blood. “You wouldn’t be the first,” she says distracted by the words.

“Just seems like a bunch of mumbo jumbo if you ask me.” Anyone can cold read a room. It’s a talent, but it’s not mystical.

“Five years ago, I would have said the same thing.”  He gives her a beat to elaborate, but she doesn’t.

“Is that why you’re here? Some sort of ‘psychic’ vision?” He lets his distaste for the word be known, and he uses actual air quotes to emphasize it. He’s slightly miffed that it doesn’t seem to bother her.

“Yes, but it wasn’t clear. I called Dean to see if The Butcher had killed again last night.”

 _Dean? They’re on a first name basis? Interesting._ “How do you know Winchester?”

“I consulted on one of his cases a few years ago.” She doesn’t elaborate. It’s the second time she’s left something hanging. Most people tend to keep talking when it gets quiet.

“And did you help?” He barely gets the words out without them dripping in sarcasm.

“Not enough to stop the inevitable.” Pamela pauses and turns to Novak and stares at him. He’s a little unnerved by it. “You’re not the same partner he had back then.”

“No. His last partner was killed in the line of duty.” And it’s _his_ turn to not elaborate.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“I’ll give him your condolences.” He moves toward her to escort her out, but she sidesteps him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me -”

Pamela turns to the wall. “That’s hers, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Your victim. That’s her blood.”

“My victim?” That was creepy. Maybe he should pay a little more attention to her.

“The case you’re working. The woman who lived here. I saw it. Last night.”

“In a vision.”

“Yes.”

“What else did you see?”

“I saw how scared she was. She thought she could trust him.”

“How do you know it’s a him?”

“It’s The Butcher, right? I could feel him in the vision. He’s strong. Powerful. Brutal.”

“You’re telling me you know who the killer is?” _Guess she’s next on the list._

“Not exactly.”

“And just what - exactly - does that mean.”

“I mean it doesn’t work that way. It’s never like watching a movie.”

“Of course it doesn’t.”

“It’s more of a feeling than an actual picture. There are glimpses, but nothing concrete. The most I was able to tell is that I’m pretty sure her name is Lisa.”

“You could see that?” He begins to see Pamela as a real threat, making a wide circle around her.

“Am I right?”

“Yes. Lisa.” He decides to give her Lisa’s last name to see what else Pamela may provide. “Lisa Braeden.”

“Oh.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I got a strong feeling her last name was Baker.”

“Interesting.”

“How? I was wrong.”

“Somewhat. She’s a culinary student. So in a way, you were right.”

“Baker. Huh.” She notices him staring at her. “Are you all right, Detective?”

“I will be.” He ensures the door is closed, never taking his eyes off her. He circles closer to her. He can smell her fear, but to her credit, she doesn’t back away. “Tell me more about this ability you say you have. How does it work? Exactly.”

“I thought you said it’s mumbo jumbo.”

“I did, didn’t I? Let’s just say your intuition may have been on to something.” The more he sizes her up, the more certain he becomes that Pamela isn’t a screamer. He’s never been wrong. He can play it off as a justified shooting if he gets her riled enough.

“I’m sorry. I’ve got...Detective Winchester said that…”

“Fuck him. It’s just us now. Not him. Me. And you. All alone. Here. And we’re going to have some fun. Aren’t we?”

Pamela finally seems to realize the depth of her situation and backs away from Novak. “You’re him. You’re The Butcher.”

“Now whatever gave you that idea?”

“I sensed that the police already know who he is, but didn’t connect him.”

“Very good, Pamela. You’re the only one who knows the truth. Too bad for you.” He steps toward her as she backs away.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“No. But I want to. I want to very much.”

“My sister is downstairs waiting for me.”

“Really? Maybe I should go get her.”

“I’ll scream.”

“Why haven’t you?” When she doesn’t answer, he adds, “That’s okay. You will.”

Novak lunges for her, catching her arm. She tries to get free, but he is too strong. She scratches his face in a futile attempt to get free. He’s caught off-guard and he shouts. He twists her arm behind her back, forces her face down onto the sofa. He’s just about to haul her back up when the rookie uniform he thinks is named Fitzgerald enters.

“What are you doing?” he asks. “Winchester just sent her up here to talk to you!”

“She came at me muttering something about The Butcher and scratched me. You’re under arrest for assaulting a police officer. Let’s go.”  He picks her up off the sofa, quickly cuffs her, and shuffles her to the door.

“You’re kidding,” the rookie says.

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” He points to the scratches on his face.

“Shit. I’ll get her processed.”

“Oh, no. I’m doing this one myself.” The rookie nods and exits. Novak says to Pamela under his breath, “This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.”


	5. The Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel makes Pamela an offer she's not sure she can refuse. Dean needs his partner's reassurance.

Castiel stands outside the interrogation room looking through the two-way mirror at Pamela, contemplating her. 

He shouldn’t have gone after her in Lisa’s apartment, he knows that. He wasn’t thinking. He’d been so disappointed by the outcome of last night’s adventure, that he slipped when the opportunity presented itself, consequences be damned. 

The question now is how he can use this to his advantage. Can he use her to his end with intimidation, or does he simply kill her, make her another victim of The Butcher? He decides to go with watching her for a bit. See if he can use her. He can always kill her later, he supposes. 

“I don’t get it,” Fitzgerald, the uniform says as he stands next to Castiel. He’s skinny. His uniform barely fits his frame, and Castiel thinks he’s everything that’s wrong with cops today. No respect for the badge. “Winchester said she’d be okay to talk to you. I never would have let her up there if he didn’t okay it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Castiel says still staring at Pamela. “We’ll get it straightened out.” 

“You need me to hang around for this?”

God no, he thinks. “No. Go take care of the sister for me.”

The sister, Anna, had shown up at the precinct when she couldn’t reach Pamela on her cell. Apparently Pamela had told her she was going to find Winchester. She was pretty, too. Paler than Pamela, worry etched into her face. She now sat at the end of the hall, waiting for her sister to be released.

Castiel made sure that Fitzgerald was gone before taking a deep breath and entering the room. He looks at Pamela and she at him. She looks away first and Castiel knows he’s got the upper hand, despite her defiant posture. 

He’s stopped just inside the door, out of sight for the camera, a fact he’s used to his advantage more than once. He turns carefully in order to stay out of the camera’s angle and crosses to it. He casually reaches a hand up to the camera. 

“What are you doing?” Pamela asks as she sits up straighter. 

Castiel turns to look at her as he pulls the power cable out of the back of the camera. “There appears to be a glitch in the camera.” He smiles at her with evil mischief in his eyes. “That’s better. So. Ms. Barnes. Pamela. Are you calm now?”

She says nothing, opposition to anything he’s going to say written on her face. 

“That was quite a little display you put on earlier,” he starts. He leans back against the wall and crosses his arms. “Lucky for you, we were interrupted. No doubt, you’re wondering what you can do, am I right?” He’s met with silence again. “Well, the answer is nothing. There is nothing you can do or say that won’t make you look delusional, so we’re going to have a little chat.” He pretends to be sorry. “I was hoping we could do more than that, but for now, we’ll just...talk.”

He sees her jaw muscles clenching. “What do you want?” she manages to spit out.

“Well, I want to know more about what it is you do. How did your vision come about? How did you see The Butcher?”

“You mean how did I see you.” She looks to the mirror as if willing someone else to see her.

“If you want to get technical. Yes.” He moves gracefully to position himself between her and the mirror. “Don’t worry. No one will see us. See that little light up there?” Novak points to a light on the opposite corner of the interrogation room, behind Pamela, who strains around to see it. “It flashes when someone enters the hallway. It lets me know when I need to wrap up my ‘bad cop’ routine so the next detective can come question a suspect.” 

Pamela’s eyes widen just a little as she realizes they are alone. 

“So. Why this one? Why not any of the others?” 

‘I don’t know.”

“You must have some idea,” Novak says, emphasizing some with a little flick of his hand. 

“Even if I did, why would I tell you?” 

“You don’t seem to appreciate the situation that you’re in, Pamela.” Novak pulls out the chair across from her, flips it around, and sits. “You have to know that the second you walk out of this precinct, The Butcher is going to come after you. You may think you know what he does to his victims, but you have no idea what’s being withheld from the public.” He’s specifically thinking about having flayed the skin on Meg Masters’ back, peeling it back like a book while she was still alive.

“I’ll tell.” 

So cute when she’s trying to be tough. Novak laughs. “Tell who? No one will believe you.”

“Dean will.” 

He knew she’d go there. Time to drop a truth bomb on her. “See. Here’s the thing about Winchester.” He leans in closer to the table. “He’s not all there anymore. His last partner? The one you remember? He was killed by The Butcher. Winchester hasn’t been quite the same since.” Castiel even spins his index finger near his temple for emphasis. 

“But all The Butcher’s victims have been women.”

Novak nods and gives a little smile. “No, women are preferable, but when an opportunity presents itself, he’s been known to dabble with others. Winchester’s partner was the first. He started sniffing around where he shouldn’t have.” He narrows his eyes. “Just like you did.”

“I’ll make them see,” Pamela insists.

“It’s your word against mine.” He sits up and holds on to the back of the chair. “A cop’s word over a psychic’s? Who do you think will be believed?” 

Pamela’s voice goes soft, almost like she’s accepting her fate and she looks down. “Why are you doing this?”

Castiel gets up and spins around. “Well, I should think that would be obvious. ‘Let woman be a plaything.’ You know who said that?” She looks away from him, toward the window. “Nietzsche.”

Her head raises a little, but she doesn’t meet his eyes. “Hitler’s favorite philosopher. Why am I not surprised?” 

“You’ve heard of him?” He cocks his head a little. 

“He’s a delusional, misogynistic whackjob.” 

“Quite the contrary, actually. Nietzsche was one of the greatest philosophers who ever lived. He believed that man would one day evolve into a superman.”

“The Übermensch.” 

Novak is visibly surprised. He’s only run across a few people who’ve heard about Nietzsche. Fewer who are familiar with the concept of the Übermensch. “Very good, Pamela. You are full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Pam straightens up a little bit more as if she’s trying to gather courage. “I’m not just going to walk out of here like nothing happened.”

Castiel leans on the table, towering right over her. “Yes. You will. You are going to keep your mouth shut and when the time comes, you are going to help me when I need it.” 

She sits back in the chair and folds her arms, looking him right in the eye. “I am not going to do any such thing.” 

They’re so cute when they think they know something. 

He pushes off the table and lets her squirm for a good thirty seconds before saying, “I saw your sister. Anna? Is that her name?” His meaning is clear.

“You wouldn’t.” Her eyes widen in fear.

“Try me.” 

She opens her mouth to protest and he cocks an eyebrow at her. All the fight goes out of her as she says, “Fine.”

“Okay. Good. Now that we’re on the same page, here’s what’s going to happen:” he begins pacing. “First, you’re going to tell me about the vision you had. What you saw, what you heard, what you felt. Then, you’re going to recount the conversation you had with Winchester word for word. You are going to tell him and your sister that you had a vision while you were with me and you mistook me for The Butcher. I’m such an understanding guy that I’m going to take pity on you and drop the charges. Then? You go home. And you wait.”

The light flashes in the corner signalling someone coming down the hall. Castiel turns to plug the camera back in. 

“She’ll never believe that. The visions don’t work that way.”

Castiel drops his voice. “Then you make her believe you. Otherwise, she’s next on The Butcher’s list, and what I do to her will make all the others look like a cake walk.”

He gets it plugged in just as there is a courtesy knock on the door. Dean enters, closely followed by Anna. “You okay, Novak? Fitzgerald said you’d arrested Ms. Barnes.”

Anna rushes to Pamela’s side. “Pam? Are you okay?” She looks at Novak. “What happened?”

Castiel flashes a sad smile. “There seems to have been a misunderstanding is all. Isn’t that right, Pamela?” 

She ignores Novak and turns to her sister. “I....I had another vision. It wasn’t like any I’d had before.”

Castiel snorts. “Yeah. She seemed to think that I was The Butcher.” 

Dean’s mouth drops open. “What? You? Really?”

“I know, right?” He laughs a little more.

Pamela grasps Anna’s hand and looks up at her. “It was so clear. I thought he was coming after me.” 

Anna pets her sister’s hair. “It’s okay, Pammy. You’re fine now.”

“I’m going to drop the charges, Ms. Barnes,” Castiel says. “You’re free to go.”

“Thank you, Detective,” Anna says. She coaxes Pamela up. “Come on, hun. Let’s get you home.”

“I’m sorry, Detective Winchester,” Pamela says with sorrow in her voice. It turns icy when she addresses Castiel. “Novak.”

Dean rests a comforting hand on Pamela’s arm. “I’ll follow up with you in a day or so, if that’s all right with you.”

“That’s fine. Thank you.” She lets Anna lead her out. 

“What was that all about?” Dean asks, sitting in the chair Pamela just vacated.

Castiel narrows his eyes playfully at him. “Didn’t know you consulted with psychics, Winchester.”

Dean shrugs and scrubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, well. It’s a long shot, but I’ll take what I can get with this one.” 

“She mentioned LaFitte.” He knows the mention of his partner’s name never fails to induce Dean’s self-loathing, and also likely getting him laid tonight. 

“She did?”

“She didn’t know what happened.” 

“I haven’t seen Pamela since it happened.” 

They sit in silence for a moment, Castiel waiting to ask his next question so as not to appear to eager. “She tell you about her vision?”

“Yeah. She called me right after it happened, convinced it was The Butcher. When she told me the victim’s name was Lisa Baker…” he trails off. “This case has shaken me to the core.”

Castiel reaches out for Dean’s hand. “We’ll get him, Dean.” Dean takes his hand but doesn’t look at him. “You okay?” 

“Not really, no.” 

Novak squats down in front of Dean, and as he tries to be the loving boyfriend, moves to kiss him, but Dean moves away. “You know that feeling of impending doom? That feeling like your world is this close to collapsing in on itself?” He holds his thumb and forefinger an inch apart to illustrate.

“Been a while, but yeah.” Making your first kill at twelve will do that to you. 

Dean swivels away from Novak and stands. “I’ve got that feeling about you.”

“Me? Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

“LaFitte said the same thing.” 

Oh, Castiel is so getting laid tonight if this is where Dean’s going. He’s already anticipating pushing Dean to his limits. 

He stands and touches Winchester’s shoulder, gently turning him around. “Hey, I am not LaFitte, and this is completely different. I’m not going after a lead alone.” 

It had been easy to bait LaFitte; killing him even easier. The look on his face when he realized that The Butcher was a fellow officer? Just like a MasterCard commercial: Priceless. 

“I know,” Dean says. “That doesn’t mean I don’t think about it.” 

“Dean, you’ve always been there for me. You’ve got my back. Always.” God, I’m good at this shit.

“I thought I had his, too.” Dean sounds so down, and Novak knows, without a doubt, that their fucking tonight is going to include a little breath play. If he’s lucky, Dean may even say yes to some blood play. It thrills him, but his mask stays firmly in place.

“You had his back, Dean. He just didn’t -” Bait dangled. 

“What?” 

And taken. “For him to go off all half-cocked after The Butcher? Not his best decision.” Dean starts to sputter and Novak cuts him off. “All I’m saying is that he couldn’t have been clear-headed to follow after the guy like that. Nothing more.” 

Dean sighs and slumps into Novak’s side. “I don’t know what he was thinking. Damned idiot.” 

Novak puts his arm around Winchester. “Come on. Let’s get some take-out and you can crash at my place tonight.” Dean nods and Novak guides him to the door.


	6. The Lies We Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pamela lies to everyone including herself.

Pamela and Anna stand outside the precinct, neither quite sure where they’re going. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?” Anna asks. 

“What do you mean?” Pamela knew the questions were coming, just maybe not so soon. Anna could have at least waited until they got to one of their apartments. 

“You know what I mean, Pam. You’re not yourself right now.” Anna folds her arms and stares, a look Pamela knows well.

“I don’t want to talk ab -”

“Oh, no you don’t. We are talking about it. You’re not getting off that easily.” 

She knows Anna won’t drop it and Pamela resigns herself. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“You need to tell me what’s up with that vision. Why it was different.”

Then you make her believe you. Novak’s words echo in her head, and she’s got to sell this to her sister if she wants to keep her safe. “I wish I knew. It was clear -”

“Clear? No wings?”

“No. No wings. I thought that Detective Novak was The Butcher. It’s like he was coming after me, and I had to fight him off. It’s like I was part of the vision instead of looking in.”

“How is that possible?” Anna asks. “In five years, you’ve always been on the outside looking in.” She loosens her stance somewhat so she’s no longer accusatory, but contemplating this new development. 

Pamela throws her hands up in the air. “I don’t know. I’m certain that Novak is - was The Butcher. He grabbed my wrist -”

“Because you lunged at him.”

“I know. That’s what he said.”

“You don’t remember doing it?”

Pamela decides to go with the truth here. “That’s just it. I do remember doing it. Vividly. I can’t get it out of my mind.” She shudders at the thought of Novak’s hands on her. “I had to stop him any way I could.”

“He is bigger than you. I’m not surprised you didn’t get away.”

“I’m not kidding, Anna. He was as real to me as you are right now.”

“I know you’re not, hun. I’m saying, between his size and the fact that you were having a vision…” She trails off. 

Taking a deep breath, Pamela says, “I’m fine. It just freaked me out is all.”

“You’re sure.” Anna looks as if she doesn’t believe her sister. 

“Yes. I just...I need some time to sort it out to try to figure out why this one was different.” She lets it hang in the air for a moment in hopes that Anna will let her alone for the night.

Anna bites her lip before conceding. “Okay. Fine. But for the record, I do not like this.”

“Duly noted.” 

“Before you go, please just walk me through what you saw? I can turn it over in my head, too.” 

If that’s what Pamela needs to do to keep her sister safe, then so be it. She sighs. “When I left you downstairs -”

“I’m still pissed at you giving me the shake.”

“When I left you, I called Detective Winchester and he told me to meet him up there.”

“I thought you had talked to him before you got there.” 

Shit. “I did, but when I didn’t see him there, I called him again.” 

“When you told me you were going to find a bathroom.” Anna shakes her head.

“Right. So when I got up there, the other detective -”

“Novak.”

Pamela doesn’t even want to say his name. It’ll sound sour on her tongue. “He was there checking out the crime scene. I told him who I was and that Dean asked me to meet him here.”

“Why did he tell you to go upstairs if he wasn’t there?”

“What?”

Anna looks at her with a touch of sadness in her eyes. “Honey, what aren’t you telling me?”

Damnit. I’m no good at this. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t talk to him did you?” Pamela stares at her. “You didn’t see him, so you told me you were finding a bathroom and snuck up there hoping to get a look around on your own, weren’t you?”

Oh, thank God. Pamela smiles. “I never could lie to you.” 

Anna touches Pamela’s arm. “Just tell me what happened.”

“I told him why I was there, and he looked at me like I was crazy.” Anna nods. Most people do. “He started to come at me -”

Anna is instantly on alert. “What do you mean, come at you?”

“Just, crossing the room. But when he moved toward me, it was like the apartment faded away, and all I could see was Novak and I knew that he was The Butcher. It was like I was in the middle of a movie and I was the next victim. All I could see was The Butcher coming at me and I had to fight him. I couldn’t let myself become Novak’s next victim.” 

At least that part is true, Pamela thinks. 

“And you saw Novak as The Butcher?” Pamela nods. “And you as his victim. That’s crazy.” Pamela says nothing. “I mean, not only is Novak a cop, but there’s no way he’d kill you at the murder scene. Not with the place crawling with other cops.”

“I know, but it was such a clear vision, I couldn’t get away from it. Look, go back to work. I’ll be okay. I need to think on it some more.”

“How are you getting home?”

“You need to stop worrying about me.”

“Never.” 

They hug and Pamela waves her sister off. “Me either. Get going. I’m going to get a cup of coffee and take a walk to clear my head. I’ll get a cab back to the apartment.”

“You’re sure?” 

“Positive. I’ll call you if it happens again. I promise.”

“Okay. Love you.” Anna heads back to her car.

“Love you, too,” Pamela calls after her. She watches Anna get into her car and go. She turns to go to the coffee shop across the street but notices Novak and Winchester exiting the precinct. They’re laughing at something. Pamela pretends not to see them. She catches a bit of their conversation.

“You go ahead. I’ll catch up,” Dean says. “I want to talk to Pamela for a minute.”

“I’d like to stay, actually.” Of course he does.

“Just give me a minute. She’s probably still skittish from the vision she had.” 

“Fine. I’ll meet you there. The usual?”

“Yes. And an extra egg roll.”

Pamela turns to look at them, Dean walking toward her. He can’t see the look that Novak gives her, but it shakes her to her core. 

“Have you got a sec, Pam?”

She looks over his shoulder at Novak until he turns the corner. “Yeah. Sure. What can I do for you?”

“Care to tell me about your vision?” he asks. “I don’t remember you explaining them that way before.”

“I don’t know,” she says. “It was probably just my imagination getting the better of me. Lisa’s apartment was pretty gruesome.” 

Dean nods. “Yeah. Could be.” 

He doesn’t say anything more, so she takes the opportunity to ask. “Dean, what happened to your last partner?”

He falters for only a second. “LaFitte was killed in the line of duty,” is all he says, offering no other explanation.

“Was he a victim of The Butcher?”

“Did you see that?”

She shakes her head. “No. Nothing clearly. It’s just a strong...feeling. Was he?”

“He was, but it wasn’t released to the press. It’s technically still unsolved.” 

“I’m sorry. Were you close?”

“We were partners. We had to be.”

“And you trust Novak more than LaFitte?”

Dean furrows his brow at her. “Yeah. Of course. Maybe even more so.”

“What do you mean?”

He takes a deep breath. “LaFitte had a lead on The Butcher and went after him without backup. Novak wouldn’t do that. He’s as by-the-book as you can get.” 

Pamela looks at him and she can tell he really believes that. “I’m sorry for your loss, Detective.”

“Thanks. I need to catch up to him. You’ll let me know if you have another vision, right?”

“Of course.”

As she watches him turn and go, she wonders if Dean will be another victim.


	7. See Ya Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Butcher needs to silence someone who's getting too close to the truth.

“Novak.”

“LaFitte.”

Benny LaFitte dangles from the rafters of an abandoned warehouse. His arms are strung up over his head, and his feet barely touch the ground. He’s not sure how long he’s been hanging there, but it feels like a while. His wrists burn from the rope, and his hands ache from lack of blood flow. 

He shouldn’t have gone after his lead without Dean. If he hadn’t he wouldn’t be where he is now. At least I’m not naked, he thinks. It’s a small blessing. 

He’d come to the warehouse after receiving an anonymous tip that thought they saw The Butcher holed up here. He’s kicking himself for not realizing it was a trap, but he’d been so eager to get a bead on this guy, that he went without telling his partner - or anyone - where he was going. 

When he approached the warehouse, he’d parked a block or so away and taken the rest of the journey on foot. He hadn’t wanted to alert The Butcher to his presence. He’d just gotten up to the door, ready to try the knob when he was knocked out, hit on the head with something. A pipe, a two by four, didn’t matter. His head throbbed and he could feel the sticky trail of blood on his neck. 

But when he was jostled awake by a slap to the face, Benny had been sure he was hallucinating. Castiel Novak stood in front of him, examining his face as if he were studying a fly before pulling its wings off. 

“Finally. You’re awake,” Castiel says, a touch of mirth in his voice. “I was getting worried for a sec.” 

Benny doesn’t understand at first, so he asks Novak to cut him loose so they can look for The Butcher together. Castiel just laughs. But why? Why does he think it’s funny? Before Novak answers, it hits him: Novak is The Butcher. 

“Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding!” Novak squeals when he sees the realization dawn on his face. “Now you’ve got it.” 

Benny shakes his head and says a soft “no,” but he knows it’s true. It makes perfect sense that The Butcher is a cop. He should have seen that coming from a mile away. The killer had taunted he and Dean with the murders, leaving what amounted to tokens of affection for them at some the scenes: A fresh baked pie, a bowl of jambalaya, one perfect fingerprint that matched no one in AFIS, a strand of hair on one body that had been cut rather than plucked, leaving no DNA to trace. 

“Why?” 

“Why? Why is everyone so concerned with why?” 

It’s then that Benny notices Novak had been holding a knife, the knife, and he’s certain it’s about to be used on him. He wracks his brain looking for a way out, but honestly, he’s a little panicked and not thinking quite as clearly as he’d like to be. 

“There’s got to be a reason you’re doing this,” Benny says. “It can’t just be for fun. You’re not that twisted.”

Novak nods in agreement. “You’re right, of course. There is a reason.” He steps closer to Benny and slides the knife under his shirt, causing Benny to gasp. “Oh, not just yet, Benny. I just need to see my canvas a bit better.” He uses the knife to slice the shirt open from the inside out. Once it hangs open, he slices just a bit into the skin on Benny’s sternum. It’s not enough to do any damage, but it does hurt like hell. 

Benny shouts, hoping someone will hear him, but he’s aware it’s probably futile. The warehouse is at the back end of a dying industrial park and the only business that’s open this late is the UPS hub which is on the opposite end of the park. 

He tries to kick at Novak, but with his toes just grazing the concrete, he can’t get any leverage to hit anything other than air. He tries to pull himself up by his arms, but they’re mostly asleep and he can’t gather the strength to do it. 

“Please, Novak. You can’t -” Benny doesn’t want to finish the sentence. The look on Novak’s face tells him that he can, he will, and he even wants to. And that’s when the real fear sets in. The fact that Novak, a cop, his friend, can kill without a second thought. 

Castiel hums as he flicks the knife over Benny’s skin, again drawing blood, still not slicing deeply. A few more flicks as Benny continues to scream. He’ll be hoarse before he knows it at this rate. Maybe if he can talk to Novak rationally….

“Novak, come on. This isn’t you.”

“Quite the contrary,” Novak replies, flicking the knife again. “This is indeed me. The one who knows he’s above you, above the law, above humanity. You’re nothing but cockroaches.” 

“Why, Cas?” 

Novak turns away from him, angry. “Again with the why!” He spins back around and slashes across Benny’s torso, inflicting real damage this time. Benny’s skin opens up as blood begins to flow freely. “Well, hell. Gotta up the timetable now.” 

Benny looks down at his torso. It’s bad. He knows it’s bad. Among the litany of fucks that float through his head, Benny idly wonders who will take care of his cat when he’s dead. Probably Dean. Dean and Jinx have always gotten along. The calico will be in good hands. He hopes she’s not alone too long.

When Novak begins to actually carve into his chest, Benny nearly passes out. He has no idea how long he’s going to last. Maybe twenty minutes with a belly wound like he’s got. He can’t tell what Novak is doing, but after what seems like an eternity, Novak says, “Done.”

Benny’s chest heaves. He’s past screaming. He can’t see what Novak did to him, but it fucking hurts. He feels it more than the big wound, and it makes him forget for a moment that he’s dying. He hears the click of a camera shutter and looks up to see Novak looking at the picture he just took. 

He holds the phone up to Benny’s face so he can see what was done. A pentagram with a starburst bleeds freely over his heart, a close double to Dean’s tattoo. “No.” His voice wavers and cracks with just the one syllable.

“Yes. What do you think dear Detective Winchester will say when he sees this?” Novak fucking giggles. “He’s going to be devastated. It’ll be beautiful.” He trails the knife over Benny’s forearms lightly. 

“Please.” Benny doesn’t have much time left. He’s got to somehow convince Novak to let him live. “I won’t….” He doesn’t finish the sentence as Novak pushes the blade into his forearm at the wrist and slices down to his elbow. He repeats the action on the other arm. Novak cut him expertly, the way he remembers learning is the near-guaranteed way to kill yourself. Much more efficient than a simple horizontal cut across the wrist.

“You won’t tell? No. You won’t.” He wipes the knife clean on Benny’s thigh. “See ya around, Benny.” Novak turns and walks out of the warehouse.


	8. What He Needs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You deserve this, Dean."

 

Dean is on his knees, naked, hands clasped behind his back, head down, as he waits for instruction.

Cas had sent him to the bedroom shortly after indulging in Chinese food. Dean had been strung tight after he’d spoken to Pamela. Nothing she said made sense. None of the visions she had in the past happened the way she described the one she had when she was in Lisa’s apartment.

He’d barely said more than three words while they ate, replaying both the crime scene and Pamela’s information over and over. Cas, thankfully, let him stew. Cas always seemed to know what he needed.

Like now.

Dean felt the tension beginning to bleed from him as he waited for Cas. It would be completely gone by the time Cas was done with him.

The first time they’d done this had been shortly after Benny’s funeral. Dean had been a wreck and Cas was there to pick up the pieces, had dominated him so thoroughly that Dean had forgotten what it was like to let go. They’d been doing...this...ever since.

And Cas always, always, knows when Dean needs it the most. He reads him like a book. It’s uncanny. But Dean isn’t about to complain.

Especially not now.

The door clicks open and Dean feels the rush of air that comes with it. He sees Cas’ bare feet stop just in front of him, and a hand cards through his hair. He closes his eyes and resists the urge to lean into the touch.

“Good boy.”

Dean inhales sharply at the praise. For a moment, he’s worried that it was the wrong thing to do and he tenses again, but the hand just pets him, and he relaxes.

The moment he does, his head is yanked roughly and he is forced to look up at Cas. “What’ll it be?” Dean doesn’t answer. “You may speak.”

He licks his lips before he does. “Whatever you want to give me.” The hand tightens in his hair and he knows that is the right answer. He’ll take anything Cas gives him. Always.

Cas pulls his face into his crotch and Dean nuzzles his cock, feeling it harden under his cheek

“Open.” Dean pulls back and opens his mouth. Castiel inserts his thumb. “Suck,” he commands, resting his fingers on Dean’s jaw. Dean sucks, runs his tongue along the digit.

He’s just getting into it when Cas pulls his thumb free, Dean chasing after it.

Dean doesn’t whimper. Much. He sits back again and places his hands on his thighs, head down. He moves only slightly as he sees Cas grab his cock and stroke it to full hardness. Dean’s mouth waters.

Cas’ hips move closer to Dean’s face, and the head of it brushes over his lips. The head is soft, and a small blot of precome wets his lips a little. A tiny thrust forward and Dean opens his mouth to let the cock in.

As soon as his mouth is wide enough, Cas thrusts his cock into Dean’s mouth forcefully, causing him to choke a little. Cas grips his head and fucks Dean’s face brutally, not giving him much of a chance to catch a breath. Dean chokes and sputters as saliva drips freely down his chin.

But Dean doesn’t tap out. He takes it. He lets Cas fuck his mouth even as he’s on the verge of passing out. The rough treatment from Cas replaces the tension of the day.

A few more hard thrusts, and Cas shoves Dean back so that he loses his balance and falls on the floor, gasping for breath. He’s worried he’s failed Cas.

Cas grabs Dean by the hair and hauls him up to standing. Dean doesn’t protest. He goes willingly. Cas pinches his nipples, more of a rough twist, really, but Dean doesn’t wince. He just takes it.

He says nothing when Cas slaps him. Hard.

He barely lets out a squeak when Cas grasps and squeezes his balls.

He keeps his gaze on the floor, not challenging Cas’ authority.

Cas turns him around, bends him over the bed and smacks his ass.

He deserves this. This treatment. He lets everyone down. His father. His brother. Benny. Everyone Dean comes in contact with, he disappoints in one way or another, he tells himself. That’s why he needs to be punished. Harder.

Another smack to his ass and he tenses. He’s going to need more if he’s going to shed his guilt tonight.

Cas must be able to tell because he pauses and turns to the chest at the foot of the bed. It’s where he keeps his toys.

Dean doesn’t look, mustn’t look, so he strains to hear the sounds of the tool Cas selects. The flogger? The paddle? The crop? He shudders at that. The crop would be perfect, but he says nothing. When he feels the crop hit the backs of his thighs, Dean groans.

He’s wondered on occasion, after one of their evenings together if what they have is healthy. They don’t talk about it. In the reading that Dean has done about what he likes, he’s run across terms like _safe, sane, and consensual_ , and _safeword_. He and Cas have never talked about what it is they do together, and he’s not sure if Cas would stop if he asked. Not that Dean has.

Dean Winchester deserves this.

Another hard crack of the crop on his ass, and Dean wonders if Cas has broken skin. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Dean hears Cas’ breathing, focuses on that as the blows continue. After one final blow, the crop hits the floor. Dean holds himself in place by sheer force of will as he waits for what comes next.

He doesn’t have to wait long. Cas manhandles him all the way on to the bed, keeping him face down. Dean’s thighs and ass are burning and Cas’ rough touch does nothing to sate the feeling.

Once he’s flat on his belly, Cas hoists his hips up into the air and Dean hears the nightstand drawer open as Cas gets the coconut oil. Dean hopes that Cas doesn’t take too much time opening him up. He couldn’t save Lisa, so he deserves the pain.

He feels his cheeks spread apart and some oil slathered down his crack to his hole. A little bit drips down to his balls. The finger that breaches him has oil on it, but not enough. The second finger comes a little too soon and the burn that comes with it makes him hiss.

Cas ignores the hiss and removes his fingers and Dean assumes it to get more oil. It was, but it’s on his prick, not his fingers. Cas shoves into Dean without enough prep and Dean cries out. Cas pushes Dean’s face into the pillows to get him to be still. It works, and Dean is quiet as Cas fucks him, the sound of skin against skin and Cas’ gruntings the only sounds in the apartment. Dean’s hands clutch the blanket, bearing the pain silently.

Cas drapes himself over Dean’s body, snaking an arm around his torso. With one quick motion, Dean is lifted up on his knees so that the two men are chest to back while Cas keeps fucking him. “You deserve this, Dean,” Cas growls into his ear. “Never forget that.”

One arm grips Dean tightly while the other hand goes to his throat and squeezes. Dean panics momentarily. They’ve never talked about breath play before. Hell, they’ve never talked about any of this before. But Dean keeps Cas words in his head as he lets himself get fucked and choked.

You deserve this, Dean.

Just when he’s certain - for the second time tonight - that he’s going to pass out, Cas’ other hand grabs his cock and quickly brings him off, possibly the hardest he’s ever come in his life. He immediately goes boneless as Cas holds him up and comes after a few more thrusts.

Both men collapse on the bed, panting heavily. “Wow. That was…” is all Dean manages to get out. He pulls off of Cas’ cock and turns to look at him.

“You deserve this, Dean.”

And Dean can’t help but shiver.

 


	9. Under Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detective Novak pays a visit to Pamela.

Pamela realizes she’s fucked, which, if certain movies were to be believed, being fucked gives you a kind of freedom because it can’t get any worse than it already is. 

Which is a complete and utter load of horseshit, because right now, she’s standing in her apartment, paralyzed with the indecision that fear brings with it. 

If she tells Dean that his partner is The Butcher, he’ll likely laugh it off, probably never call on her services again. 

And Novak will come after her.

If she doesn’t tell Dean that his partner is The Butcher, she’s left waiting for Novak to show up anyway. 

Either way, she’s fucked. 

Three days have passed since she left the police station with Anna. She’s tried to go on as if everything were fine, but she’s hardly eaten or slept in all that time. She’s been waiting for Novak to show up. Or call. Or email. Something. She has no idea what she’s going to do when he does contact her, but the waiting makes her crazy.

She now stands at the living room window, staring at the street, one arm across her torso, chewing on the thumbnail of the other. She’s been there for at least twenty minutes. It could be longer, she’s not sure. 

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The rapping on the door pulls her out of her thoughts and she heads to the door on autopilot. Just as she puts her hand on the knob, she freezes. “Who is it?” she asks.

“It’s Detective Novak.”

Fuck. “What do you want?” She hopes she sounded less frightened than she is. 

“I needed to talk to you some more, Ms. Barnes.”

“Go away.” She doesn’t really expect it to work, but you never know. 

His voice drops. “Your sister is very pretty.” 

“Goddamnit,” she mutters as she unlocks the door. She flings it open and tries to block the entrance, but Novak simply pushes past her like she’s nothing. She closes the door and leans against it, arms folded. 

Novak wanders her apartment, nodding as he goes. “Nice place.” She says nothing, just watches him. He crosses back to the bar that separates the living room from the kitchen and sits on one of the stools as if he’s been there a hundred times before. 

“So, I’ve been doing some research on you,” Novak starts. “Pamela Barnes, 35. Hailing from Sturgis, South Dakota. One sister, Anna, 32. Parents Alice and Michael Barnes, deceased. Graduated Sturgis Brown High School 1998. Never married. Psychic abilities obtained five years ago after a fall from a third-story window left her in a coma for a week.”

Pamela glares at him from her spot on the door. She should have expected this. 

“Should I keep going?” he asks. 

“Great. You can use Google.” 

“For the surface stuff, sure. Want to know how I know that you got up at 7:35 this morning, made coffee in your French press, showered - leisurely, I might add - called your sister, watched the local news for any -” 

“Stop it!” Pamela hisses. “Stop it.” Of course he’s been watching her. She knew he would be, but didn’t expect him to know so much. Was he in her apartment? The thought makes her nauseous. She glances around, looking for any possible places a camera could be hidden. 

“Yeah, that would unnerve me, too.” Novak grins at her and she’s tempted to slap him. “It’s right up there, by the way.” He points to the far corner of the living room. Pamela squints at the spot but can’t see anything. “It’s there. I assure you. You can take it out when I leave, but I’ll just come back to put in another one somewhere else.”

Christ. What is she going to do? How does she outsmart this guy? Can she outsmart him? She wishes he’d just get to the fucking point already. Maybe then an idea will come. 

“So,” Novak starts. “What are we gonna do? Can’t have you just waltzing around knowing what you know, now, can we?” 

“I suppose we can’t.” Her voice is clipped. She’ll let him talk for a bit. Maybe he’ll give something away. 

“I’ve been thinking that your usefulness to me lies in your abilities. I mean, I can’t just kill you right here, right now. Well, I could, but I’m not done with my mission, and I need you to buy me time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I figure he’s got at least five more kills before Dean finally understands what The Butcher is doing. So, I’m going to need you to throw Dean off the scent and point him in the opposite direction from The Butcher.”

Pamela feels her anger rising and she gets right in his face. “From YOU! Just say it already! Throw him off YOUR scent.” She pounds a fist on the bar. He doesn’t even flinch.

“Something wrong, Pamela?” The twinkle in his eyes and the tone of his voice unnerve her. His hand shoots out and grabs her by the throat, cutting off her air and her hands try to pull him off. He leans into her face, his breath on her cheek. “Now, now.”

She knew he was strong from her vision, but she didn’t realize just how strong he really was. He’s only holding her by one hand like she’s a doll. She’s fighting him, but all he does is squeeze a little more. Another few seconds and it’ll all be over. She’ll be one more victim of The Butcher. 

He lets go and Pamela falls forward, grasping her throat, taking in huge gulps of air, her chest heaving. She didn’t expect the hand in her hair yanking her up to face him. 

“You will do what I need you to.”

All she can do is nod silently. He releases her and heads to the door.

“See you soon, Pamela.” And he’s gone. 

She has no idea what to do other than to obey him.


	10. That Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel pushes Dean further than he's been to glorious results.

Castiel is done. He can’t concentrate on anything. Nothing this past week has made him happy, and he’s a pretty easy-to-please kind of guy. 

Ever since Pamela turned up at Lisa’s apartment, Novak has been on edge. He knows he should kill her. It’s the easy, and safe, thing to do, but his curiosity got the better of him and he’d kept her alive. 

For now. 

Dean lies face down on the bed, ankles tied to his thighs, wrists tied to his ankles. Just how Castiel likes him. 

One of these days he’s going to have to kill Dean, he’s sure of it. The day Dean gets too close just like LaFitte. But for now, Novak is content to keep his little pet as a fuck toy. 

It’s his mouth, really. 

Dean Winchester has the most beautiful dick sucking lips Castiel has ever seen, man or woman, and he’s not about to give that up just yet. Right now, he’s got the head of his dick between those lips and they’re suckling it like a pacifier. 

He looks over Dean’s body and he knows the ropes are too tight on him, circulation beginning to slow, but he doesn’t give a fuck about Dean. All he cares about is getting off and those goddamned DSL’s are doing a fantastic job. 

Novak almost never praises Dean. Hardly ever tells him how good he’s being. Castiel isn’t a Dom. He’s a sadist, plain and simple. The more pain and suffering the better. It’s why he generally likes to take his time with his victims. 

He laments for a moment on Lisa and Benny and how they disappointed him in the end. Nowhere near enough fun was had with either of them. 

So he takes it out on Dean. One more suckle to his dick and he yanks Dean’s head back growling “Open.” He does and Novak fucks his mouth hard and fast. It’s by far his most favorite thing to do to him. Barely letting him get any breath at all is a thing of beauty. 

He’d pushed it too far once and Dean actually passed out from lack of oxygen. Castiel pulled out of his mouth and jerked off onto his face. Castiel had never come so hard in his life. 

Dean even apologized for passing out. 

“You deserve this, Dean,” is all Novak said. 

It only happened the one time, and Novak planned to do it again, but it was something special to be savored. He was well aware that he occasionally lost control and didn’t want to take the chance of accidentally suffocating his partner. 

Death by dick.

That thought makes him falter so he pulls out of Dean’s mouth, enjoying watching him gulp for air. 

He flips Dean onto his back, climbs up onto the bed and straddles him. Not to be penetrated, god no, but to try a little something different. He bends over Dean’s body to the nightstand, opens the drawer and pulls out a knife. He watches Dean’s eyes go comically wide. 

“What’re you -”

Novak shushes him as he sits back up. He trails the knife along Dean’s torso, gently scraping the skin but not leaving any marks. Yet.

Dean flinches but doesn’t say anything, clenching his jaw. 

“You deserve this, Dean.”

Novak makes a shallow, one inch cut just to the right of Dean’s tattoo. The blood wells up and pools on his chest. It’s not much, but it’s enough for Castiel to get off. He carefully licks the knife clean and places it back on the nightstand. 

Castiel places his hands on either side of the cut and presses down, drawing more blood to the surface. That’s better, he thinks, running his hand over the blood. He gets enough to cover his palm, and then grips his cock. The blood is warm on his dick. 

Castiel jerks off with Dean’s blood, and it’s better than anything he could have hoped for. He’d done it once with one of his earlier victims, but it left him with an odd feeling. Probably because they were already dead when he did it. 

But this. Watching Dean watching him get off like this? It’s even better than he imagined, because even though Dean has relaxed a bit, he still looks scared. And that’s what Novak was after. 

That fear. 

Her jerks himself faster, getting closer and closer to the edge. He stops for only a moment to get more blood from Dean’s chest and strokes himself harder. His eyes are locked with Dean’s and just as he’s about to come, Dean opens his mouth, those perfect DSLs ready to take his load. 

Novak comes with a soundless shout, splattering Dean’s chest and lips, and he has to steady himself, he comes so hard. He lets go of his cock and places his hand on Dean’s shoulder to catch his breath. 

As his breathing settles, he removes his hand, noting the bloody handprint he left there. He scrapes up some come and blood from Dean’s chest and holds his fingers out to the bound man who takes them willingly. 

“You deserve this, Dean.”

And Dean comes untouched.


	11. What Did You Do Last Night?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean wonders where Castiel was last night as he waits for Pamela.

Dean takes a deep breath and winces a bit as the skin pulls at the cut Cas made last night. Admittedly, Dean has done some freaky bedroom stuff in his thirty-seven years, but that one took the cake. Letting Cas cut him like that? And then using his blood to jerk off? 

And he came so hard, his vision whited out a bit at the edges. 

Jesus. 

He tries not to think about it as he looks over the items of a menu he knows by heart. He’s waiting on Pamela. She texted him last night to tell him she’d had another vision. She’s never had them so close together before, but maybe this means he’s getting closer to catching The Butcher.

He didn’t even tell Cas he was coming to meet her. He figured he’d just make some snarky comment about psychics, so he’d said he was going to the gym knowing how much Cas hates it. Cas runs, usually at night, claiming it gives him clarity when there are less people around. 

Last night was a bit different, though. After their fucking, Dean fell asleep shortly after he was untied and the feeling came back to his extremities. He’d woken up around 3:30 am to find the bed empty, and Cas gone. 

Unable to sleep at that point, Dean turned on ESPN for some of the evening’s highlights. He kept touching the cut, not quite sure what they had done was real, his mind reliving the feeling and sensations of what they had done. 

Cas came back to his apartment a little after four, caked in sweat and dirt and a little bit of blood. Dean jumped out of bed to look at him. 

“Jesus, Cas! What happened to you? You okay?” His hands gripped Cas’ face, checking for any sign of concussion in his eyes. Cas looked a little stunned to be asked such a thing. Like he hadn’t expected Dean to still be at his apartment. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said pulling Dean’s hands off of him. He turned to the bathroom. “I fell is all.”

Dean had been incredulous. “You fell? Where? Down a fucking ravine?”

“Really, Dean. I’m a grown man,” he said stripping off his shirt. “You don’t have to baby me.” He toed off his shoes and padded to the shower and turned it on, avoiding Dean’s stare. 

“Of course you are. But what the fuck? Where’d that blood come from?” He fought the rising panic that his partner had a head injury hidden by his hair. 

“I’m fine. I was jogging and I tripped over a rock.” He shucked off his shorts and socks. “The blood was from my nose. I hit it when I fell.” 

“Lemmie see,” Dean says. He reached for Cas again but he jerked away. “Come on. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, Dean.” Cas stepped into the shower, signalling the end of the the discussion.

Dean flicks at the edges of the single-page menu going over that conversation for at least the tenth time. It hadn’t been the first time Cas went jogging in the wee hours of the morning, just the first time Dean had been wide awake when he came back.

And the way he’d reacted when he got home, not even letting Dean take a look at him? Weird. Dean shrugged it off as Cas being mad at himself for falling like that. Dean once punched a cable pulley machine when he lost his grip on the bar making him fall over, so he gets being mad at yourself.

There was something about last night that he just can’t put his finger on. 

The waitress startles him when she asks if he’s ready to order or still waiting on someone. He tells her he’s still waiting, but he’ll take a cup of coffee and a slice of the triple berry pie. She nods and heads off to get his food. 

It’s when he’s down to the crust on the pie that he finally acknowledges he’s been stood up, which is strange, knowing Pam. She’s never done that before. He shoots off a quick text and waits for a reply. 

Ten minutes and still nothing. He decides to go to Pamela’s apartment. It’s not that far. 

He throws a twenty on the table to cover his food and time spent, and walks the three blocks to her complex. He buzzes her a couple of times, but no answer comes, so he waits for someone to either enter or exit so he can sneak in to see if he can rouse her. Maybe she’s fallen asleep. 

His spider-sense tingles and he knows that’s not the case. 

He has to wait about five minutes before someone comes to the door. The woman leaves the building and Dean catches the door before it closes. As he waits for the elevator, he unconsciously drums his thumb and ring finger on his thigh. When he realizes he’s doing it, he shoves his hand in his pocket. 

On the ride up, his heart beats faster.

When the doors open, he has to force himself forward into the car.

When they open again, he fights his need to run to her door.

When he sees it’s slightly ajar, his fingers twitch as he reaches for it. 

He ignores every bit of training he’s ever had and gently pushes it open. 

As soon as he sees the blood, he backs up to the opposite hall wall, thudding against it, and slowly sinks down to the floor. 

“Fuck. FUCK!” 

He pulls out his phone to call in the homicide.


	12. Plaything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Let woman be a plaything." ~ Nietzsche

Pamela’s body lies in the kitchen. Her blood coats the cheap linoleum.

Adler declared blood loss from several stab wounds to be the unofficial cause of death.

 _Close_ , Novak muses.

“She looks like a damned pin cushion,” Dean says. “This was personal.”

Novak sighs in agreement. It’s the least he can do considering he’s the one who killed her. “That many stab wounds usually is.”

 _Very personal_ , he thinks.

He’d come to the apartment after making sure Dean was asleep, too giddy from the blood play to sleep himself. He’d decided it was time to get rid of the psychic, wondering what in the world possessed him to keep her alive in the first place. It had been a stupid thing to do.

The CSIs photograph everything as the detectives take in the scene.

“Neighbors said they heard some banging around three, but figured it was just some, and I quote, ‘wild monkey sex.’” Dean shakes his head.

“Hey, over here,” Jo Harvelle says, hitting the shutter on her camera a few more times.

“Whad’ya find,” Dean asks.

She points to the ceiling. “There’s a hole up there. Could be nothing. Could be something.”

“Thanks, Jo.” Dean pulls out his flashlight even though every light in the apartment is blazing, and shines it at the small hole. “It could fit a camera lens,” he says.

Novak stands behind him, following the beam of light. “Or it could be termites.”

Dean moves the beam around the ceiling. “I don’t see any other holes,” he observes.

“Who knows,” Castiel says. “Want me to take a look?” He’s already reaching for the dining chair when Dean stops him.

“You don’t have to,” he says placing a hand on Castiel’s arm. “Forensics will get up there and figure it out.”

 _Not that they’ll find anything_ , Novak thinks. He removed the camera just before he left the apartment. He’d watched the footage this morning, and popped a boner as he watched Pamela dying by his hands.

“You got anything on that?” Dean asks pointing to the wall. More words The Butcher wrote in blood dripped ominously. “Because that’s freaking me out.”

_...but by laughter._

“Actually,” Novak starts.

“Of course.” Dean rolls his eyes. “What is it?”

“‘Not by wrath does one kill, but by laughter.’ Nietzsche.” One of his most favorite quotes. He is usually laughing when he kills. Not always, but often.

Although, he hadn’t actually laughed that much last night.

Pamela was quite a heavy sleeper. She never heard him creep into her bedroom. She had a white noise machine running, perfect for covering the noise of the roll of duct tape he unwound.

A piece over her mouth and she’d barely fluttered her eyes at the light touch. Her arms were wrapped around a pillow that she hugged to her chest, and he carefully slipped that pillow from between her limbs.

She’d woken up enough to roll over, but not enough to fully wake. He’d stepped back and watch her settle back into slumber. Granted, he wasn’t really going to have a whole lot of fun with her - he’s not dressed for it, for crying out loud. This killing will be utilitarian. It’s necessary, not pleasure.

A simple smothering and he could go back home.

It should have been easy. It should have taken three or five minutes, tops. He’d planned on her waking up and struggling some, but he was stronger than she was, so it wouldn’t be a problem. He straddled her and placed the pillow over her face.

She was much stronger than she looked.

When her body naturally reacted to the lack of oxygen and panicked, flailing wildly, she’s managed to catch him in the nuts with her hand.

He swore at both the pain and himself for not anticipating the hit. Expect the unexpected and all. In his slightly weakened state - it wasn’t a hard or direct hit, but it had hurt - she’d managed to flip him off the bed and onto the floor.

Pamela bolted out of bed. He knew she recognized him as he saw her eyes go wide with fear. She didn’t pull off the duct tape, more concerned for her freedom than her voice.

He grabbed her foot, throwing her off balance, sending her to the floor, and he was on her again. She struggled and tried to crawl away from him, but he grabbed her by the hair, keeping her in place. His hands wrapped around her throat and since she was on her belly, couldn’t fight back other than to slap backwards at him. Her death, at that point, was imminent.

He’d squeezed and counted to sixty five times and she was dead.

He dragged her body into the kitchen, letting it lay there while he caught his breath for a second. “Bet you didn’t see that coming.”

Novak pulled a knife out of the butcher’s block as he chuckled to himself at the name of the the thing. He planned on waiting a few minutes before going to work on the body, letting the blood settle a bit. He knew it wouldn’t spurt without circulation, but still.

He turned back to the body and noticed something peeking out from its pajamas. He shifted the bottoms down a bit and saw she had a tramp stamp and smiled. _Jesse Forever_ , it said. He’d planned on just taking the duct tape over her mouth with her lip print for his souvenir, but that was much better.

He sliced into the skin around the tattoo and peeled it off. It was going to look excellent when preserved and mounted. He held the skin in the palm of his hand, tracing the lettering with his fingers. It was still warm and the little hairs stood on end.

Novak smiled.

He caught a small Tupperware container in the clean side of the sink and placed it delicately in that to take with him. Castiel quickly found a container of salt, thankfully non-iodized, and poured it over the skin to preserve it. He set it on the counter and saw that blood from the wound seeped into her pretty pink pajamas.

Novak squatted down and flipped her over, taking the knife and stabbing her at least twenty times with it, getting out every bit of frustration he’d had over her and the foolish mistake he’d made that first time in Lisa’s apartment.

He hated her for making him question himself.

It was then he’d wiped his palm on his shirt, wiped the knife clean of prints, pulled the duct tape off her mouth, grabbed the Tupperware, and left the apartment.

When he got back to the house, he noticed a light on and realized Dean was awake. He’d have to concoct a story about where he’d been. Dean would accept that he’d been running, but the blood on his shirt was a little harder to explain.

He’d snuck around to the backyard and rolled in the dirt at the base of the newly planted tree, caking enough on himself that he could tell Dean he fell while jogging. The blood had just gotten easier to cover up.

He let himself in through the garage and stashed the skin on the back of the paint shelf before grabbing a bottle of water out of the fridge to face Dean.

“Cas?”

“Hmmm?” He’s so caught up in his memory of the night before, having taken care of the Pamela Problem, that he’s only barely aware that Dean calls his name.

“I lost you there for a second. You okay?”

Castiel blinks at him as if sussing out whether or not he really is okay. “Actually, I’m great,” he says with a smile.


	13. The Dots Line Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's mind beings to wander. He's not sure if he likes where it goes.

Something’s not right. Dean is sure of it. He just can’t place his finger on what it is and it’s making him crazy.

Pamela’s apartment feels off for some reason. More off than just having hosted a murder in it, that is. He is certain he is missing something as he pores over the photographs of the crime scene.

Adler said there was evidence of adhesive around her mouth, and that the actual cause of death was strangulation. The blood in the kitchen had been seepage from the wounds. With no blood flow, there would be no spray to cover the killer, so he’d probably looked normal leaving the apartment.

The missing tattoo, however...Jesus, that freaks him out more than the words on the wall. The Butcher always takes some sort of token from his kills, but this is above and beyond anything he’d witnessed so far.

But, God help him, he thinks it’s genius. He wonders what the killer is going to do with it, wonders how it felt when it came off of her body. He shudders at the thought. He wonders if the killer wrapped it around his prick and jerked off with it.

_Where the fuck did that come from?_

He’d be lying if he didn’t think it wasn’t at least somewhat erotic, and what the fuck is wrong with him? He needs to derail that train of thought right now. It’s disgusting, and he hates himself for even thinking about it.

His mind wanders back to the night Pamela was killed. Thought about what he was doing at about the time of the murder. Getting highlights from the Red Sox game, he thinks. While he was all cozied up in bed with ESPN, Pamela was fighting for her life.

He thinks about Cas and what he was doing. Cas had been on one of his midnight runs. At three in the morning, coming home covered in dirt and blood.

_He fell. It was his own blood._

_Are you sure?_

_Of course. Who else’s would it be?_

He starts to think about that day in Lisa’s apartment. About Pamela mistaking Cas for The Butcher. They’d never really talked about it, Dean just accepted Cas’ word. _What if?_

Dean shakes his head. There’s no way. Cas has been there for him, he’d know if his partner was a serial killer, right? There’d have to be some kind of clue.

Like how he’d been out for several hours the night Benny died.

No. He refused to believe it. His mind is just fucked up from their weird sex and that thought he had about the skin. That’s all it is. Nothing more.

But what if…?

He officially hates that voice now. He pulls out his notebook and pen and works his way backwards.

Victim eight. Lisa Braeden. Cas had a family emergency.

Victim seven. Josie Sands. Cas was too exhausted for anything fun.

Victim six. Cassie Robinson. Cas worked late.

Victim five. Meg Masters. Cas said he wasn’t feeling well.

Unofficial victim. Benny LaFitte. Cas worked late.

Victim four. Bela Talbot. Cas called him saying he was stuck with his drunk brother.

Victim three. Madison Hart. Cas said he was too tired to hang out.

Victim two. Sarah Blake. Cas worked late.

Victim one. Jessica Moore. Cas needed to get his run in.

Dean ponders that for a few minutes. He doesn’t need to factor in the other unconfirmed victims to know. It can’t be. There’s no way. Right? He’s reading way too much into it. Coincidences is all. Hell, even Dean doesn’t have an alibi for those nights. Half the city probably doesn’t either.

It doesn’t sit well with him no matter how much he tries to shrug it off. He looks at the list again and thinks that he can at least verify that Cas was at the precinct on the nights he said he worked late.

He hates himself for having that thought, but he does it anyway. He sends a text to Charlie Bradbury who heads up the computer forensics division, asking to cash in on a favor. He wants to know if Cas was logged into his desktop on the nights Sarah Blake, Cassie Robinson, and Benny LaFitte were murdered.

Charlie, good friend that she is, doesn’t even ask why, just tells him to give her about twenty minutes.

The wait is agonizing for Dean. He knows, knows, that he’s wrong. But something in the back of his mind won’t let it go. What the hell would he even do if Cas is The Butcher?

He’s not. He can’t be.

It takes longer than twenty minutes for Charlie to get back to him. It’s closer to an hour, and Dean is about to pour his second scotch to calm his nerves when his phone goes off.

“Hey, Charlie.”

“Do I even want to know?” she asks.

“Not even a little,” he says. “What did you find?”

“Well….”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“I’m not sure. First, I checked to see if he swiped his card to get into the building, and it says he was here. Then I checked his computer. He was logged into the system, but when I checked the sign in, it was done remotely.”

“What? Like he logged in through a remote desktop connection?” Dean had done that a hundred times before, easily.

“No. That would have a different signature. This was done so that it looked like he logged in while he was at the precinct, but the IP address was piggybacked into another server.”

“What are you saying, Charlie?” Dean’s heart beats faster.

“I’m saying that Cas wasn’t here those nights, but he tried to make it look like he was. What’s going on, Dean?”

“I’m not sure yet. Thanks for your help, Charlie.” He hangs up before she can reply and gets an angry text from her a moment later telling him that he owes her.

_Fuck._

He touches the cut again over his shirt and it both horrifies and excites him.

He knows what he needs to do, and he’s fucked no matter what happens.


	14. What Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is definitely not ready for this conversation.

All things considered, Castiel should be in a better mood. Pamela has been taken care of. He’s stringing Dean along beautifully. His next victim has already presented herself on his radar, a lovely young thing with long dark hair whose stage name is Ruby. He smiles at the memory of her in the club.

But something’s not right and he can’t put his finger on it. Maybe it’s because his last two kills weren’t all that satisfying. Sure, he got his point across with the blood messages, but they both ended entirely too quickly for his liking.

He likes to play with his food, so to speak.

He texts Dean to see if maybe he can fuck some of the uneasiness out. Dean texts back he’ll by in about twenty minutes. Castiel ensures he’s put away his souvenirs before he gets there. The tramp stamp is coming along nicely. It really is going to look excellent framed. He can hardly wait.

The biggest question is where to hang it?

When Dean gets there, Castiel can tell that something’s bothering him - he hardly looks at Castiel, a sure sign something’s off. _Great. Now I’ve got to fix him, too._ He sighs internally and puts on his Good Boyfriend face.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is full of concern and he amazes even himself sometimes with the fake empathy he manages to pull off.

“Can we talk?” Dean says tentatively. Castiel wonders if this is the breakup talk. Or, oh God, not the can-we-move-in-together talk.

“Sure.” He sits on the sofa and waits for Dean. “What’s going on?”

Dean doesn’t sit right way. He paces twice as if gathering the courage to say something. If Dean is breaking up with him, Castiel wonders if he could convince him otherwise. He’s not ready to give up those lips just yet.

One more deep breath and Dean sits on the sofa’s edge next to Castiel, angled toward each other, their knees touching.

“I’m not sure how to say this.” It’s all Dean gets out before Novak places a reassuring hand on his knee. Dean looks at it curiously.

“Dean, whatever it is, just say it.” He’s such a good boyfriend.

“I’ve been thinking about some things -”

 _It’s the breakup talk_ , Novak thinks. _Here we go_.

“And, well. I ran back over some nights recently, and…”

“Are you worried about the other night? The blood? Was it too much?”

“No! That was actually...I liked that a lot more than I thought I would.” Dean doesn’t meet his eyes. He’s ashamed that he likes it, and Novak couldn’t be more thrilled.

“Then what is it?” He twists his face into concern that borders on sorrow, milking the empathy for all it’s worth.

“Remember that feeling of impending doom I said I had a few days ago?”

“I told you, I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean shakes his head. “But, Cas, that’s just it. You already have.” He swallows thickly.

Novak furrows his brows. Winchester is making even less sense than usual and needs to get to the point quickly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, Cas. I think you’re...doing something when I’m not around. Something bad, and I’m not sure what to do about it.” His elbows rest on his knees, hands clasped in front of him, still not meeting Castiel’s gaze.

Novak rolls his eyes. “What? Like jaywalking?” He chuckles. Winchester would bust a boy scout for having his scarf askew for fuck’s sake.

“Cas, please.” His voice is strained now. “This isn’t easy for me to say because, well, I, I love you, and if you’re -”

Novak’s head spins. Love? That’s new. He can’t remember the last time he heard it. His mother maybe? But that was before she knew what he did. Before she became afraid of him. Before he killed her.

“Cas?” Dean’s question brings him out of his fog and he stares at Dean incredulously. He couldn’t have heard that right. “You okay? I didn’t mean to spring that on you, but, you needed to know before I tell you the important part.”

Novak snorts. That wasn’t the important part? How much worse could it get?

“See, I’ve been doing some thinking, and I’ve gone back over The Butcher’s victims. Including Benny, and see, the thing is, I think you could be him.”

Okay. That is not what he expected. Two loops thrown in thirty seconds. So he says nothing.

“And you know what?” He takes a deep breath and holds it for a second. “I don’t think I care.”

Doesn’t care? How is that possible? Winchester is the biggest goody-two-shoes when it comes to the law and rules he’s ever met. There’s no way. It’s a ploy to get him to confess. He still says nothing.

“I talked to Charlie. I didn’t tell her why, but I asked her to check back on the nights you said you worked late that coincided with The Butcher’s victims, and she said that while the system says you were there, you’d hacked the system to make it look like you were there when you weren’t.”

Novak says slowly, “And you think because I wasn’t where I said I was going to be that I’m The Butcher. You know how you sound right now?”

Dean pushes himself up off the sofa and looks down at him. “I do. But Cas, I don’t care. And that scares me.”

“Do you really, _really_ think that I could be The Butcher?” His mask is firmly in place. He’s sure of it.

“That’s just it. I do. I mean, this -” he waves his hands between the two of them, “thing we’ve got between us? It’s fucked up. Seriously fucked up. The things we do, the things I let you do to me?” Dean shakes his head like he’s unable to continue, but he does. “The other night with the blood? I’ve never come so hard. I’m fucked up for liking it.”

Novak stands and places his hands on Dean’s face, staring into his eyes. “You’re not fucked up. You deserve it, Dean.”

Dean shivers but doesn’t pull away. “That. That right there. I shouldn’t like that. But I do. I love it.”

Castiel brushes a thumb against Dean’s cheek. “And what if I was The Butcher? Then what?”

Winchester changes the subject. “You know Pamela’s missing tattoo on her lower back?” Novak nods. “When I was trying to puzzle out the timeline, I had a thought about using the freshly cut skin to masturbate with. I actually thought about wrapping Pamela’s still-warm skin around my dick and jerking off with it.”

Novak backs away from Dean as if he’d been shocked by their touching.

“See?” Dean says. “Fucked up. What kind of person thinks about shit like that?”

This can’t be real. Dean didn’t just say that. He couldn’t have. There’s no way Dean would have said something so wrong, so depraved, so fucking _hot_ , that Novak is sure he’s having an aneurysm. When he says nothing, Dean continues.

“Look, I’m not saying I want to do it - fuck, maybe I do. I don’t know. Cas I’m just so fucking confused right now, I don’t know what to do. Everything I’ve ever believed in has gone right out the window because of you, you bastard.”

Castiel surges forward, pulling on Dean’s scalp, exposing his neck. He sinks his teeth into the flesh on Dean’s shoulder, drawing some blood, but not enough to cause any real damage. Dean doesn’t flinch at all and Castiel thinks it’s amazing that he’s found someone like Dean. Could it be love he’s feeling? He doubts it, but it is something. He just can’t name it.

Novak pulls away from Dean’s neck, blood on his lips and kisses him, smearing his own blood over his mouth. Dean groans and licks at Novak’s lips and Castiel opens up to him and they kiss, desperately, as if they’re never going to do this again.

And they may not. Novak has a decision to make.

**Author's Note:**

> My [Tumblr](http://www.trekchik.tumblr.com/html/). I'm nice.
> 
> Yep. That's it. *evil laugh* Will he or won't he? If you've made it this far, thank you for sticking with it!


End file.
